­Notes: It's taken me a little longer than I expected to get this chapter up and about, what with moving back to school and trying to get into an academic mindset. It's going to be a pretty hectic semester from the looks of it, but hopefully I'll be able to make room for fannishness. Thanks very much to everyone who's reviewed—and especially to Lan, for giving great input and letting me babble at her.

­"I don't understand," Glinda wailed. ­­"You can turn tea into toast and back, you can turn a person into a bird and back. It seems you can turn anything into anything and back. Why can't I change the color of her skin back to the way it was?"

After a week of searching, it had come to this. Glinda, in anguish, and Elphaba, still shrouded from head to heels, had gone to Madame Morrible. Miss Greyling had been first on the list—although she was limited in ability, Glinda had insisted she at least knew how sorcery worked and could tell them what to do. The information the instructor provided, however, was so haphazard that the girls had gone to the infirmary in defeat. The doctors, skilled far more in medicine than magic, suggested they see the headmistress.

They had gone back to their room to talk it over. Glinda had shrieked, Elphaba had thrown things, the entire dorm had assumed the two girls were killing each other, and the decision was made within an hour.

And now the headmistress was blinking her fishy eyes and condemning Elphaba to a pink and white life because Glinda hadn't known the proper formalities to be observed when creating a spell. "Simply put, the spell you used was not a legitimate one," she said, rather primly. "You can't just make up your own; there are long training programs for those who write spells, and hundreds of factors must be taken into account. No doubt you learned this the first week of class," she added crisply, which made Glinda flush.

"Magic," she continued, addressing Glinda as an exasperated mother would a recalcitrant child, "is more than thinking about something, waving your hand, and having it happen. By law, every existing spell is required to have a counterpart so that it may be undone. In creating your own, you silly thing, you neglected to take this into consideration. You can plead Miss Elphaba's case and see if the professionals will think up a spell to turn her back, but you'll have to pay for the commission. They take them sometimes in order to reverse spells gone bad, but this isn't fatal or overtly harmful, so they may not." She smiled frozenly. "And Miss Elphaba does, of course, have the option of pressing charges."

Elphaba seemed to be considering just that.

"And this, Miss Glinda, is what you get for meddling in sorcery too advanced for your learning," Madame Morrible concluded.

"But she's not the one paying the price, is she?" Elphaba demanded.

"I didn't mean for it to turn out this way." Glinda had plunged her face into her hands, crying. "Everything's my fault. I did it to my Ama, I did it to my roommate. Magic hasn't done me any good at all."

Elphaba made a small sound of disgust, clearing implying that, as far as she was concerned, Glinda certainly wasn't the one in need of comforting. Without another word, she rose and stalked out of the room.

Milla, Pfannee, and Shenshen were better at comforting, anyway. And, to Elphaba's despair, rather persistent about it. Glinda, disheveled and weepy, had been curled up on her bed in a crumpled ball of wrinkled skirts and mussed curls for the better part of an hour. She showed no sign of pulling herself together, her friends showed no sign of leaving, and Elphaba's grudge showed no sign of waning. Glinda had apologized to her several times already, and seemed so honestly distressed that Elphaba almost felt bad for her. But only almost.

"I still don't see what's wrong with it," Shenshen was saying, as she cut a pointed glance over to where Elphaba was pretending to study. "All right, so it wasn't legal, but you didn't know any better and it's all right anyway. Why won't she accept that?"

"It's not the point," Elphaba snapped from within her shroud for the umpteenth time, which sent Glinda into another crying fit.

"You're right, it really was a silly thing for her to do," Pfannee snapped back, "daring to think you might appreciate being rid of your…singular skin tone. The very idea! It's such a sought-after look, after all; I can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want to be green."

Elphaba was mildly surprised that Pfannee had enough brains to attain such levels of sarcasm, and said so.

"This is just silly," Milla complained over Pfannee's screeches. "There's nothing anyone can do right now, so you should just get up and get used to it. If you're doomed to looking like everyone else, you can at least learn how to enjoy it. Dress up, go dancing, get the full effect, but don't sulk about it."

Glinda perked up at that. "Yes! Elphie, come out, learn how different things are."

"So now you want me to parade myself in front of the masses as if I'm a completely different person? Were you trying to leech out my brainpower along with my skin color? I assure you, I still have some left."

­"Think of it scientifically," Glinda pleaded prettily. "We know you're the same person, only with lighter skin, but not everyone else does. You can take note of how you were treated before and how you're treated now. You could write a groundbreaking, bestselling exposé!"

­Elphaba, appalled with herself, was starting to feel a sort of morbid curiosity. "I'd rather be alone now," she said firmly.

Shenshen blinked disbelievingly. "You've been alone all week, doing nothing but reading. It's time for a change. And please," she added quickly, "spare us and don't try to say something witty about change."

Elphaba bowed mockingly. "I'll be laconic instead: get out."

"What?" Shenshen attempted to sound nasty, but was obviously trying to determine the meaning of laconic.

"This is between Glinda and myself. You three are just a collective distraction, and not a very pleasant one."

"Let her talk," Glinda said wearily. "You don't want to be around if she really flies off the handle."

Elphaba frowned at that, but waited patiently as the other girls reluctantly made their way­ to the door. Glinda, all tears forgotten, was smoothing her dress and talking animatedly. "Elphie, we'll have such fun. We haven't been to any of the good taverns since before…well, you know. I'll have to wash up, my face is a horrible mess, but you'll look wonderful, just wait—"

Elphaba cut her off once the three girls had departed. "I don't believe you," she hissed. "I don't know what sort of logic you think you're following, but this does not make everything right again. Of all the ridiculous ideas. Pretend it's scientific?"

"So you'll come, then?" Glinda was already reaching for a hairbrush.

Hating herself for it, Elphaba lowered her hood. "Just this time, that's all, so don't get carried away. Because if I wake up with blonde curls tomorrow," she warned, "someone is going to pay."